


cumming at you like a raging bull

by Grubbutts, petasos



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Blow Jobs, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Degradation, Digital Art, Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Equius Zahhak/Nepeta Leijon, Rage, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 18:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grubbutts/pseuds/Grubbutts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/petasos/pseuds/petasos
Summary: Equius meets Tavros for the first time in sweeps, and insults his pride - Tavros knocking Equius down a peg follows.





	cumming at you like a raging bull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isolato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isolato/gifts).

> First off, hi giftee! We (your fillers) loved this prompt. By we, I mean the writer and the artist who illustrated this. I can safely say that I had a blast working with said artist, and that we had fun coming up with ideas for this - and I hope you like what it ended up as <3
> 
> NOTE: this was originally titled "comin' at you like a raging bull" but I joked about the pun and co-filler was like, "I dare you to change it." So I did.

Some days are better than others.

Feferi’s castle is a sprawling thing, half in the water, half out of it, and you only leave when Her Resplendence needs a guard to accompany her, which is often. The benefits of being Feferi’s guard are high in number: you have ample time to contact your moirail, and you make good pay, being in the employment of royalty. The pink sky is a bit overwhelming, but Feferi adores this planet, Sepiida, the one she rules over for now (until she can gather enough political presence to challenge Her Imperial Condescension, Long May She Reign.)

So yes, some days are far better than others - the days you have time to call Nepeta, the days you practice your archery in the palace’s shooting range, the days you spend most of your time in your bunk with your robotic parts, building little things to pass the time.

Today is not _quite _one of those days. Feferi’s having one of her bad days - “fuschia rage,” they call it, because as the highest of the highbloods, she’s predestined for anger of that sort. She’s angry, and doesn’t want her guards around - at least, that’s what the cerulean tells you when you go to your station - usually, you stand guard by Feferi. The benefits of being an old friend, some might say.

“Not today,” she says, and you nod, letting out a quiet sigh. “Check the postings. She doesn’t want anyone around.”

“Of course,” you say, and she gives you a slight bow (you are higherblooded than her, after all), and you make your leave, making your way to the bulletin.

You’re posted outside her respiteblock today (_ZAHHAK, EQUIUS: Her Resplendence’s personal quarters_, reads the computer), just in case of intruders, potential assassins, the like. It’s been a good few months - this Culluary was the last time she hid away in her respiteblock, likely making use of the half-underwater section she’d made her hive… sometimes you worry about her, but Feferi can take care of herself, and you know this.

Simply put, standing guard outside of her respiteblock is rather boring. The castle itself is a beautiful thing, made out of seaglass-green metal native to the planet, cool to the touch; you can see the stretch of gray sea from the windows right across from you, and you watch wisps of orange clouds float lazily past in the sky that almost _perfectly _matches Feferi’s caste color. It’s wonderful too look at, but the scenery is the only bonus.

And so you stand put, letting the hours tick away. You’re the only guard here, but with your bow and quiver at your side, no intruders would stand a chance, ‘lest they had poison to take you out, and even then… you’re one of the strongest of your caste, aren’t you?

When someone comes to take your place, handing you their tablet to sign them over to the position, you head towards your own respiteblock… when you bump into a very, very familiar face.

Tavros Nitram.

He stops, and his tail flicks - his eyebrows are pressed together, almost a perfect V-shaped line, when his bronze eyes meet yours. “Equius?” he says, and his voice is far deeper than you remember it. He looks a little annoyed, as if seeing you brings him no pleasure.

“I wasn’t aware you were on Sepiida,” you say, tilting your head.

“Well,” he says, giving a faint shrug in response, those droopy ears flicking just like his tail as he avoids your gaze (he’s taller than you, built bigger, which surprises you.) “New arrival.”

“You’re a cavalreaper, aren’t you?” you ask. “I… was not aware that cavalreapers were assigned duty on colonized planets, or are you… off duty?” Perhaps it’s a vacation - maybe he’s taking some time off of work.

“Yes. I was assigned guard duty.” He tilts his own head to mimic yours. “Didn’t realize you worked here, or are you just visiting Feferi?”

“Goodness gracious, Tavros, _don’t say her name like that_,” you hiss, eyes widening as you grab his arm and pull him into your respiteblock, praying he ignores the robotic parts scattered across your floor. At least your bed is neatly made, the pillows stacked as uniform as possible. “She’s the heiress to the throne! You don’t refer to her like that.”

“Right, uh. Sorry.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect anything better from a lowblood, but just because she was your friend -”

Tavros’ eyes narrow, and his mouth presses together in a thin line, only a few fangs jutting out past his lips. It’s not a look you’ve seen before on him, not once - and you’ve seen plenty of looks on his face, because he was your friend growing up. You remember him coming by once or twice, when FLARPing incidents meant Vriska was staying at your hive while you fixed her arm (he’d almost gotten pushed off a cliff, once, and Aradia had tried to pressure him to quit FLARP, and he finally had, after the accident that lost Vriska her eye and arm.)

“I’m sorry?” he says, and his voice is harsher.

“I said,” you say, and swallow - just his voice alone has you sweating a bit, and you’d thought you had that under control. “That just because she was your friend…”

“No.” He takes a step towards you, closing the door to your respiteblock behind him. “Before that.”

“I’m not sure -”

“You called me a lowblood,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at you, and he grabs the front of your armor, pushes you against the wall. “Is that all I am to you? A lowblood? Just Feferi’s wigglerhood friend, who got this job ‘cause of some fucking friendships when we were basically _grubs_? Is that what I am to you?”

You’re struggling a little to breathe - and honestly, you don’t much mind, it’s a nice change. “Tavros -”

“No.”

“Please -”

“No, call me a fucking _highblood_, since _caste _is what matters here.” Tavros hisses the words out, and you can tell he’s pissed, his words strangled out, and he pushes you to your knees. You land against the wooden floor with a quiet thud, and he grins down at you, face distorted with anger. “_You’re_ the fucking lowblood, Equius, not me. _You’re _the one on the ground, not me.”

He reaches down, and undoes the buttons on his ink-black pants, pushing them down, and his bulge comes slithering out, thick and bronze and dripping wet, curling around as it looks for a nook. He grabs you by your horn and pulls you towards it.

“So serve me like I’m one of your oh-_so_-important highbloods, _Zahhak_.”

Just seeing his bulge like this, wet and dripping, makes your nook ache to the core, and you reach out, carefully taking his bulge with one hand - it’s sticky, not unlike your own bulge; you curl fingers around it, and it shoots towards your mouth, so you curl your lips over your jagged teeth, and take him in your mouth, his fingers gripping your horn with more strength than you can fathom.

He pushes his bulge into you, and it slides down your throat, and you gasp, trying not to cough or spit it out - you can’t breathe at the size of it, and your nook wants that inside you, buried deep, filling you up like you’re a pail.

You’re sweating up enough to fill your own bucket.

Tavros’ other hand presses against the back of your neck, and you let out a quiet moan.

You could easily stop him, couldn’t you? It would take no time at all. _But you don't want to._

Does he know you fantasize about this? About someone putting you down, dominating you? Maybe he does - you always have; even if you’re a highblood, your thoughts often go to the idea of someone higher than you putting you in your place, treating you like a toy, like a pail.

His fingers are curled so hard around your horn that you’re scared it’ll break, just like your other one, and then someone will know what he’s done - but he doesn’t pull, just uses it to steady himself as he fucks your mouth, his hips shoving into your face like he needs it. You can barely manage to swallow around him, and your mouth will be swollen and indigo-blue when he’s done, if it isn’t already. It’s too slick, your tongue pressing against the rigged underside, and you have to puff out your cheeks to take him as far as you can - but he seems to recognize you can’t take all of him, and pulls out til just the tip rests on your tongue.

You press one hand against his thigh, and he groans. “See, _this _is how you service a highblood, not like he’s fucking _dirt_,” he growls, and it’s guttery and dangerous, his eyes looking down to meet yours when his hand slides into your thick hair and tugs, hard.

You let out a harsh gasp, and your bulge slides out and into your pants in one fell swoop, searching for friction - it can’t find any, and instead chooses to bury itself in your nook instead, pressing inside of you. You moan around Tavros’ bulge, and he lets out a hiss, digging his nails into your scalp, his hips pounding into your mouth with abandon.

Your bulge flicks inside you, mimicking the way his bulge fucks into your mouth, driving itself as deep as it can, but it’s not deep enough. You want more - you want him to shove you onto your table and fuck your nook until you’re struggling not to scream, you want him to fuck into your wastechute when he’s done because just your nook isn’t good enough, you want him to use you and discard you like the lowblood he’s treating you as.

He pulls out of your mouth, leaving spit and bronze dripping down your chin, dribbling onto your shirt, and you stare up at him, wide-eyed, face warmer than you’ve felt it in a while.

“Didn’t take you for -” he says, and you wrap a hand around his bulge before he can finish his sentence, and he lets out a shaky noise at that, his tail wrapping around his leg.

“Please, highblood,” you say, and it hurts to say it, to call him something he’s not, but you’re practically pleading. “_Please_, pail me, I… I need it, I -”

Before you can finish, he’s pulling you up and slamming you against your bed, stomach-first, ripping away your pants and shirt and leaving you completely naked, quivering on the bed, your face in the hot pink sheets.

“Wow,” Tavros says, the anger tinged with bitter laughter, “you’re already trying to pail yourself, hmm? How often do you do that?” He coaxes your bulge out of you with nimble fingers, stroking at the bit of your bulge he can reach, and you can feel it come out of you, leaving you empty and needing and desperate. He presses a finger inside of you, nail grazing your entrance, and you can feel the grin in his voice when he asks, “You want me to use you, hmm?”

“Please,” you hiss into the sheets.

“I can’t hear you,” he says, and grabs your wrists, pinning them to your back.

“Please.”

“_Still can’t hear you._”

You lift your face out of the sheets, gritting your teeth. “For fuck’s sake -”

“Tsk, tsk. That’s no way to talk to a highblood,” he says, and slams his hips into you, his bulge pushing inside you with a single movement. You feel stretched thin, too open, too full and thick with bulge, and your own bulge slithers across the sheets, making a mess of indigo. Tavros’ nails bite into your own hips, using them for leverage as he shoves himself into you, burying himself to the base. You can’t see him, but you _want_ to, want to see the expression on his face, and you try to wiggle yourself to a better position, to view over your shoulder, but you can only see his silhouette in this light, his horns and muscles and the glint of his teeth when he opens his mouth.

“Tavros,” you murmur, and he digs his nails into your hips even harder.

“Don’t call me that. It’s highblood to you.”

“Highblood, please, I - I want to see -”

He laughs, and pulls out of you, leaving his nails in your skin. “What, you want to see me? Do you think you deserve that?”

“No, but I -”

“Don’t speak to me. You don’t deserve that.”

“Ta - highblood, _please_.”

Tavros digs his nails in hard enough that you can smell blood, and then pulls his nails out; you try to turn onto your back, and he lets you, before grabbing your legs and pulling them around him, looming over you before pushing back inside.

Your hands go to his back, and he pushes them away, grabs your wrists again. “Don’t touch me, dirtblood.”

You can’t manage to say anything, because he pulls out and slams back in harder, his hips grinding into you like he’s just as hungry for this as you are. His bulge flicks inside of you, your bulge swiping across your stomach - you feel like he’s ripping you apart, like he’s going to tear into you with his bulge, but you don’t care, you just want _more_.

He’s losing his rhythm, pounding into you harder and harder, pulling your legs up to rest over his shoulders as he slams into you, and your eyes roll back in your head, one hand digging into the sheet, the other stuffed in your mouth so you don’t make a noise (wouldn’t want to bother anyone.) You can feel yourself nearing climax, feel your nook clenching around him and trying to bring him deeper, and your hand rips through the sheets and into the mattress when he buries himself to the hilt and tenses up, before his entire body relaxes and he lets out a soft sob, collapsing on top of you and burying his face in your neck - his horn gets in the way, but he manages.

You reach a hand down to grab at your bulge, curling it around the base and pumping, your other hand grabbing at his horn for support while he pants into your neck, and you come with a hazy jerk, your limbs going haywire and then limp, one arm draped lazily across his back.

It’s a few good moments before you can fully breathe again, and he’s standing up, looking horrified as he surveys the mess - the torn sheets, the fucked up mattress, your tattered clothes on the floor, the bronze and indigo pooling together. Tavros reaches back and rubs the back of his neck, then mumbles, “Oh, uh, fuck, I’m so sorry, Equius… I don’t know what came over me…”

You reach out, and grab his hand, and pull him back on top of you - his body lands on you with a crash, and it’s a little painful, and you wonder if he’s stronger than you are.

“Nonsense, Tavros, you… I should not have said that to you, you’re my friend, I…” Your face heats up. “I wanted it.”

“I didn’t ask,” he says, and lets out a groan. “Every time I get frustrated, I just… I have to take it out, and…”

Your fingers card through his mohawk - it’s almost the same as when he was a wiggler (longer, a little swoopier), and it’s sort of cute, if you think about it. “I wanted it,” you say again, a little louder, ignoring the shaking of your legs. “Really, Tavros, it was… honestly wonderful… I… I don’t mind in the slightest. I should not have called you that. You were clearly already upset.”

“Someone said I only got the job because…” He pauses, and laughs. “Because of Feferi. When I _should _be out actually doing my proper cavalreaper duties - but no, I’m here, at _her _damn castle, being a _guard _instead of on a proper cavalreaper ship.” He pushes off of you, laying down next to you with a sigh, angling his head so his horn doesn’t spear through you. “I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“What part of ‘I wanted it’ are you not understanding? I’m sure I could’ve easily pushed you off of me,” you say - even if you’re not so sure, but you ARE one of the strongest of your caste. “I wouldn’t mind doing it again, if… if you ever need to relieve tension. Since, well, since we’re both stationed here… and when the time comes to fill a pail, if…” You pause, sheepish and ashamed. “If you need a pailmate, I don’t have a kismesis or a matesprit.”

“Wow. I… that’s, I thought you’d hate me.”

“Perish the thought,” you say, and glance over to your side, looking sadly at the remains of your sheets. You’ll have to get new ones.


End file.
